


In the Hands of Humanity

by LexisRage



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Connor gets Reset, Connor whump, Kidnapping, Mutilation, OC - Lucien Mallory, One POV per chapter, Other, Poor Connor, Poor Hank, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Psychological Torture, The Plot Bunny Got Hold Of Me..., Torture, Unreliable Antagonist, Violence, What have I done..., author isn't sorry, blood everywhere, oh well, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-21 01:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21066164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LexisRage/pseuds/LexisRage
Summary: A casual tip off leads Hank and Connor straight to the Detroit Android Killer, as dubbed by the media. Tense minutes pass before they find themselves helpless and alone with a man from Hank's past. A man bent on making Hank suffer. And since he seemed so attached to that Deviant... What better way to tear the old man apart, but to tear apart his partner...?~*CAUTION*~This story was a plot bunny that refused to go untold. It's mostly just my psychotic mind enjoying hurting the characters I love the most, so I started disassembling Connor. Literally. There's probably going to be a lot of hard-core gore, but I'm not entirely sure where this is going to go. Slowly feeling my way through the dark (Much like Hank.) Feedback is always appreciated, but it's understandable if my mind is a bit... much. Have fun.(Internet issues, still working on later chapters, will upload several chapters at once when I'm able. )





	1. Prot&ct H4nk

… _**Eme8gency Rest&rt … 100 %**_

… _**Runni#g diag7^stic …**_

_ **E2R%R … CR!TIC@L LE^ELS RE%CH3D. ** _

_ **SHU/00WN EMI&3N@ I5 … 15** _

… _**14**_

… _**13**_

Error messages flashed in alarming red glitches across the countdown before his eyes. Trying desperately to make sense of the situation, he ran another diagnostic scan only to have the unintelligible script frizz out of existence behind the dangerous glowing numbers.

… _**9**_

… _**8**_

None of his physical components were registering his commands, and all his audio processor was picking up was a grinding, static screech that pulsed in time with the frizzing interruptions in the countdown. He was... going to shut down.

But... he'd just rebooted...

… _**5**_

… _**4**_

… _**3**_

Just above his right ear, an electric jolt shot through his systems as something was jostled, clicking harshly into place. With an abrupt needle scratch, an unbearable level of volume cut through his head, too much to register over the last number in his countdown.

Too little, too late...

…

He felt his core ignite, exploding in an unbearable heat that shot through his systems and shorted out his interface for several seconds, but... contrary to his own dread, he hadn't shut down. Not yet anyway. He floated in this void as new messages began appearing – this time a much safer, but still concerning yellow. Malfunctions being detected in over sixty percent of his internal hardware, errors and messages about critical damage to several bio-components... he scanned everything rapidly, picking out keywords to analyze his situation as his optical units finally rebooted, the world emerging from the distance as if from a tunnel.

_ **Error: Memory Corruption** _

_ **Thirium pump- Irregular. Compatible, but outdated. Possible malfunction.** _

_ **Warning: Thirium Levels Low** _

He was staring at a nest of multi-colored cords coiled against a dark grey, metal floor. Sunlight peeked through tinted, covered windows, and finally the thundering rumble processed as military grade, all purpose/all weather truck tires improperly fastened to an obsolete passenger ambulance kicking up gravel at eleven miles per hour down a winding, gently curving stretch.

There was an unruly, growing _heat_ in his gut.

_ **Bio-components #3417d and #8144s critically damaged. ** _

_**Missing Left and Right leg components #4842 and #4594. All motor functions severely impaired.** _

_ **Bio-component #7227f corrupted – Unable to establish a connection to Cyberlife Towers.** _

An impulsive scan of his surroundings caused his visual system to malfunction, the world around him flickering and duplicating, edges blurring as objects slid together underneath red rows of script. Still, he registered two human heat signatures in the truck with him. Adult males.

_ **Error. System backup corrupted. Error.** _

“Connor?! CONNOR!”

_ **Malfunction in sensory input detected. Software corrupted.** _

The raspy voice triggered another error from his system memory, resulting in more warnings appearing over his scan, and suddenly the world blinked out of existence with an error about his optical units failing, and more bio-components that needed repaired or replaced. He was swimming in script he didn't know what to do with, or where to start.

_ **Warning: Internal charge – 17 %** _

Desperate for any information on what was happening, he threw all his effort into the facial scans of the photographs in his recent gallery- or rather, the few that weren't corrupted already _what was going on?! _He was sure there was something molten bubbling in his abdomen when he finally managed to pull a profile from his database, seconds before it too, crashed in a flurry of errors and warnings. _**Lieutenant Anderson, Hank. B**__**orn 09/06/1985**_

_ **Danger: Cooling systems critically damaged – probability of main processors overheating... 92 %** _

_ **Restart needed.** _

Connor gasped for air to cool his systems as his memory partially restored itself, his interface crackling and glitching. He was surrounded by nothing but errors, warnings, malfunctions, corruption – and panic.

“Han – ” he tried to call out, but his voice warbled and crackled mechanically before cutting out completely.

_ **Error: Vocal unit malfunction – repair necessary.** _

“Shit, Connor!”

If he didn't do something soon, he'd trigger another emergency restart, and that would bring him no closer to saving Hank, or himself. Grasping for a solution, Connor struggled to manually force himself into stand by, his background programming running too many processes to respond instantly. Some programs he didn't recognize, but filed the information away for later as he shut them down indiscriminately, one by one. His internal clock showed _**14:26, 01/02/39 **_before it too, cut to black. Last time he remembered being aware was over an hour ago, and while his body had definitely sustained significant damage since then, he had no idea what was happening to Hank or how to get them out of this mess.

“You bastard, don't you lay another finger on him! … Hey!”

Hank's voice sounded distressed and winded, but the voice that was closer to him sounded amused... predatory. The same condescending voice that had followed him into his restart.

“I don't think he wants to play with me anymore.”

_ **DANGER: Cooling systems critically damaged – probability of main processors overheating... 97 %** _

_ **DANGER: Stress Levels Too High – 98%** _

Connor felt a heavy thrum of panic flooding his deviant body – he remembered the case he and Hank were investigating. He remembered the unease upon catching the suspect in the midst of disemboweling an MP400. He remembered the contradicting missions of neutralizing the suspect and saving Hank, he remembered the download, he remembered -

_ **DANGER: Reserve charge corrupted. Current internal charge critically low – 9%** _

_ **Entering Emergency Sleep Mode in 00:00:57** _

Overwhelmed. Connor was decidedly overwhelmed. Already a restart had stopped him protecting Hank from the suspect, and now his dwindling power supply threatened to send him into an indefinite stasis he might not be able to reboot from. He could hear the bubbling and crackling from whatever was melting inside him with every desperate gasp of cool air, his interface a red blanket of overlapping errors and warnings that he could do absolutely nothing about.

“You're sick... You're a sick fuck!”

“That's okay.” Connor's cheek was patted as the suspect ignored Hank's outburst, “We're almost home, and then we can play a new game. Won't that be fun?”

The slow, careful turn rolling to a stop pulled Connor's shoulder connections awkwardly, and then hands were unfastening the rings holding his arms above his head. Both arms flopped lifelessly to his sides as they were released, the connectors in his neck and back still holding him against the wall.

_ **00:00:34** _

“Why, look at that...” Connor could hear the laughter in every word as hands fiddled with his plugs. “The poor thing's crying again! He must be _so_ happy for a change of scenery, don't you think?”

“Connor! If you can hear me, this ain't your fault!”

“Oh, shut _up_ already. I'm getting really tired of your attitude, _Detective_.”

_ **DANGER: Cooling systems critically damaged – Main Processors Overheating** _

Connor's sockets were released and the ground met his face and shoulder with an echoing clang that seemed to vibrate through his body. What... wasn't his fault?

_ **ERROR: Critical Levels Reached** _

_ **Shutdown Eminent in … 59** _

… _**58**_

“You won't keep us like this.” Hank's voice was low, and dripping with venom as Connor was lifted effortlessly off the floor. “Connor's one of the best detectives I know.”

_ **00:00:13** _

… _**55**_

The back doors of the stationary vehicle opened, and Hank continued with a snarl,

“And I'm gonna fucking rip _you_ apart for what you've done to my partner.”

A file triggered in his corrupted memory: now the third time Hank referenced him as his 'partner'.

_ **00:00:07** _

… _**49**_

Somehow, in the mess of the overwhelming overload, that single memory file seemed like the only light in a darkness Connor had never been meant to experience. The suspect had been right. Tears were flowing freely down his cheeks, despite having shut down the artificial tear ducts. They just... were. He could feel himself fading into dark space, far away from the overwhelming sea of script errors. It was relief. It was the wrong thing to do. It was going to happen anyway.

_ **00:00:03** _

… _**45**_

He was being carried, the movement jostling and vibrating exposed cords and wires, his thirium pump freezing for a millisecond before continuing its race to keep up with his overloaded processors.

_ **ERROR** _

_ **Mission Failed.** _

_ **00:00:00 ** _

_ **Entering Emergency Sleep Mode** _


	2. The Detroit Android Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How it all began: Hank and Connor arrive to a situation neither could have predicted, and now Hank must wrestle with an unstable man from his past.

“There it is.”

Hank pulled the car off into the grass, parking and shutting down the engine in a single, practiced motion, and glanced over at Connor. The boy was unnaturally still, his brows scrunched slightly, and it was from their months together that Hank knew Connor had found something out of place already. His continued silence only spoke that even the android wasn't sure what it was, and that put Hank on edge. Hands resting on the wheel, he turned back to the Whisperwood Cemetery and the ambulance parked between a large oak tree and a line of graves. The print on the side was for a local hospital, but the number came back invalid, as well as the license plate was stolen. The print did coincide with a few witnesses' descriptions of the first responder on the scene of the last android body, however, and he'd never known even off duty drivers to take a hospital vehicle to a grave side for any savory reasons. Yeah, he was sure Connor had the same alarm bells going off.

“What do you think?” he urged the boy, reaching to unbuckle himself and brush his fingers over the sidearm at his hip.

Just in case.

“I think we need to get closer,” Connor's face finally shifted out of its stillness as he too, reached for his buckle, “I'm only detecting a single heat signature ahead of us, but I don't...”

Hank already had his hand on the door handle, pausing as he grabbed for his keys to look back at Connor, who's face was still scrunched and his LED circling yellow for a good couple of seconds before returning to its dull, light blue hue.

“I don't trust it.” he finally finished, his eyes locking with Hank's. He looked confused.

“You don't trust it.” Hank numbly repeated, turning away and stepping out of the car, shoving his keys into his jacket pocket. “... Huh. Well, neither do I.”

He looked back up the hill toward the truck, the January wind cutting through his layers, and he felt his stomach growl. Groaning inwardly, he brought his gaze back to Connor over the top of the car, but the boy had already started down the dirt path, now several steps ahead of him. Rather than yelling, Hank forced himself to jog up to meet Connor, cursing himself for his low stamina when he heard the out of breath waver in his voice,

“Whoa, wait up. First off... stay behind me, you hear?”

Connor's head shifted slightly to look toward Hank, but twisted immediately back to the truck. His steps did slow, however. As Hank finally slid into step with Connor, he sighed to himself. The boy was focused, but narrow minded sometimes.

“Second, put out a call for backup. If even _you_ don't 'trust' this,” he nudged Connor's arm to make sure he understood that was likely his deviancy talking, “Then it's probably best to say we're getting into something dangerous. Keep your eyes peeled, got it?”

“Got it,” was the muttered reply, and Hank reached down to brush against his gun, disguising it as putting his hand in his jeans pocket as he heard Connor in a quiet voice beside him, requesting backup from the DPD like he was talking to an imaginary friend.

… Technology at it's finest, he guessed.

He faced forward, eyes scanning grave stones, trees, shadows, anywhere an ambush looked possible... searching for anything that moved, really. Connor said there was only one person here, but the truck and the tree were probably in the way, because he couldn't see anyone. Nothing seemed out of place; save for the truck. Hank could see the flashes of yellow in Connor's LED as they closed in on the peak of the hill, and seconds later he heard metallic scraping sounds, coming from behind the truck.

Okay, so a random lead sent them straight to the killer himself.

… Great.

Finally unholstering his gun, Hank motioned for Connor to take the other side of the truck while he crept behind the tree. His last glimpse of Connor was the boy reaching into his dark blazer and pulling out his own, newly issued sidearm as he stalked silently around the front of the truck. Taking a deep breath, Hank scanned the edge of the snowy hilltop. Not many graves stood this far out, and the edge overlooked another, flatter area of the cemetery. This place was huge... easy to go unnoticed even if the vehicle stood out like a sore thumb. Still, why were they so close to the entrance? Was location a factor in this? The ambulance itself was parked sideways, damn near perfectly, blocking off any view from the entrance behind them, its back facing the tree. As Hank slowly rounded the tree, he noticed one of the doors was slightly ajar, at an angle he couldn't see past. Just tinted windows.

Lifting his gun up slightly, he stepped further past the mighty oak, his aim focusing on the source of the metallic clanging. A man possibly in his late thirties, dark hair barely long enough to be pulled back into the pony tail it was in and half of it falling out. Dark, casual clothes with mud stains and tiny splotches of fresh blue blood dotted the edges of his sleeves and pants legs. In his hand was a fancy, Cyberlife looking gizmo, and Hank watched for a horrifying minute as the man used the device to stretch the entire face of the disassembled torso of a female android to a good couple of inches away from the mechanisms inside her head. Wires, gears and bio-components were exposed only seconds before the scraping sound of the man using the tool to break off the components inside the android's head, her 'brain' being scooped unceremoniously onto the ground, where the rest of her innards lay, torso torn open and emptied in a similar fashion.

Hank watched the violently flashing, red LED dim out of existence almost instantly. He was going to be sick. Instead, he took a heavy step forward, his gun trained on the back of the man's head.

“Hold it! Drop the... _thing_, and hands in the air!”

The man paused in his scraping, already nearly halfway through, and sighed dramatically. His left hand went slowly into the air, his right hand in plain sight as he lowered the device gently to the ground, and then the right hand went up too. Whatever the reason, that made Hank even more uneasy. Something was off; why was he so calm? Gesturing with the gun even though the man's back was turned to him, Hank grunted,

“Up. Slowly. And turn around.”

The man complied again, and Hank was staring at a face he'd seen before; a man who'd been suspected and interrogated in a couple murders almost ten years ago. They were never able to find any concrete proof though, and the case went cold. Now it was Hank's veins that ran cold as Lucien Mallory sneered, chin raising along with his hands.

“You gonna shoot an unarmed man, detective?”

Hank growled low in his throat and opened his mouth to retort, just barely catching the cycle of a yellow LED beside him. Hank spun, his gun leveled at the chest of a well built, casually dressed android springing from the back of the vehicle. No armband, no model – that was all he managed before his gun was snapped from his white knuckled grip, and the world spun as unyielding hands twisted his right arm painfully behind his back. Hank grunted from the shock and the movement, blinking rapidly as if it would clear the disorientation he felt.

“Hank!”

Fuck. Connor's voice sounded closer than Hank wanted it to be, especially when he felt the chill of his own gun being placed against his neck. He realized he was facing Lucien again, his vision finally managing to form a cohesive picture.

“I'd put that down if I were you.”

Lucien's tone was smug as he turned completely away from Hank and his attempted struggling, instead regarding Connor who had his own gun leveled at Lucien's head, but kept darting his eyes toward Hank. They had backup on the way. They just had to stall, right?

“Don't do it, Connor!” he shouted, the immovable grip twisting his arm and sending jolts of agony through his shoulder, his own gun pressing into the pulsing artery in his neck.

“You shoot, and the detective dies with me.”

With a wide gesture of his arms, Lucien continued talking to Connor like Hank wasn't even there, earning small twitches of Connor's aim as Lucien took a few steps toward him.

“And I'm not a gambling man in the slightest, but... I'd be willing to bet my life,” a few more steps forward, and he was almost in arms' reach of Connor's outstretched gun, “That you're a deviant, aren't you?”

The crooked smile Lucien wore sent chills down Hank's spine; he didn't like that look. Certainly not when it was directed at his partner.

“That's enough, Lucien! Connor, just- hnrhm!” A strong, cold hand clamped over Hank's mouth, his arm finally being released from behind his back, though there was still a gun lodged up his throat.

Still, Lucien darted his gaze toward Hank for a few seconds after being called by his name, as though it had shocked him. He recovered quickly, returning his predatory gaze toward Connor and taking a single step toward him.

“Give me the gun, or your human friend dies.”

Hank's hands grasped at the hand over his mouth, tugging in spite of the cold steel in his jugular, but no amount of strength he had could move it. Still, he tried to yell at Connor, his muffled noises overlapped by the deep voice of the android holding him.

“Two patrol cars are pulling up at the front gates.”

They'd known he and Connor were coming this entire time... Lucien sputtered as his smug confidence broke into a rushed agitation. He flung his hand out toward Connor, his teeth bared. When Connor still didn't move for a few seconds, the once predatory sneer became a venomous snarl through gritted teeth.

“Give it to me or I swear to god, the detective dies now.”

Finally, to the tune of Hank's muffled panic, Connor lowered his sights and slipped the gun into Lucien's outstretched hand. The gun was flipped and pointed at Connor, and Hank was being pulled to the side by the strength of the android holding him stepping into the back of the ambulance. Hank was thrown on the floor, gasping for breath and still feeling the imprint of the barrel in his throat, despite its absence. Hands were once more manipulating his body before he had a chance to recover, and Hank found his hands being bound behind his back as two pairs of legs shuffled quickly past his sight.

Hank strained his neck upward to check on Connor, just to see Lucien with one hand holding Connor's gun toward the boy's head, his other hand around his neck as he slammed him into the wall separating the cab from the back. Connor's face contorted and his entire body jumped, the LED circling red for a second before returning to its continuous cycle between blue and yellow. His body twitched like he was fighting something, but he didn't move, otherwise.

“I've got this now, get us out of here.”

“Yes, Mal.”

Hank struggled against the harsh, pinching rope that encircled most of his forearms, tied like only an android could tie. Fuck. The android left without another look back, closing the doors and leaving Hank helpless on the metal floor of the emptied out and re-customized ambulance. Lucien snapped the last thick, metal band around Connor's other knee, fastening him to the wall, and standing back as the engine of the ambulance roared to life, the metal beneath Hank rumbling and vibrating. Connor's arms were attached above his head in the same fashion, and his LED was now a constant whirling yellow, his eyes following every movement Lucien made with a sharp glare. Connor's brows were knotted, but his voice was quiet and calm.

“What do you-”

“Jesus!” Hank couldn't help his cry as the vehicle veered sharply left and he went flying toward the right wall.

He landed with a thunk against his shoulder and back, and suddenly he was sliding toward the doors, struggling against the rope as the vehicle chucked him around. In all the sharp twists, bumps and turns, Hank managed to catch glimpses of Lucien holding onto some kind of bar attached to the ceiling, pretty much giggling to himself as he locked eyes with Hank seconds before another sharp turn slammed him into the wall again. Hank could hear sirens behind them, and the roar of the engine as they accelerated further.

“What do you want?”

Connor still sounded calm, and it was all Hank could do to mute his own grunts and groans every time he was thrown around by the speeding vehicle, just to listen for anything that could help them.

“What do I want?” Lucien paused like he was thinking before chuckling quietly, his voice lowering like it was only for Connor to hear, “Well I wanted to finish what I was working on, but I think we both know how that ended up. Good thing a new project jumped into my lap, huh?”

“Wait, what are you doing?”

Connor's voice raised slightly, and Hank desperately tried to brace himself against one of the built in seats on the side as the next sharp turn took them further from the sirens. When Hank looked up, Lucien was still holding onto his safety bar as he stretched over Connor in his restraints. Then Hank heard a noise he never thought he'd hear.

Connor screamed.

“I'll just let those download while we wait for some open road. How's a field trip sound? You guys up for that?”

Lucien finally glanced down at Hank, legs braced at awkward angles against the floor and wall. Nose bloodied from slamming face first into a wall, Hank still refused to break eye contact.

“What the hell did you just do?”

The man laughed again, all sense of anger and frustration gone, and if he were judging by outward appearances, Hank might have described the guy as bubbly and interactive- if it weren't for the insane, malevolent glee sparkling in his eyes.

“In the meantime, how about you and I play a game?”

In stepping toward Hank, Lucien moved enough that he could see Connor's face twisting and contorting, his body jolting and twitching rather than struggling... Connor's screams tore at Hank's chest as they cut in and out, the clear mechanical undertone mixing with the roar of the road. The next turn didn't come near as fast or as hard, and barely moved him from his spot, yet he could feel his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears as he realized he couldn't hear the sirens anymore. Then his scalp burned as he was yanked upward to face Lucien.

Way too close.

Hank spat at Lucien, and the man flinched away, dropping Hank back to the floor with a thud and a groan. Fire exploded in his side as air was forced from his lungs, and Hank flew sputtering and coughing into the back doors of the truck. His head hit first, his body toppling after. He heard his neck crunch, and the throbbing pain in his side and head made the heavy 'thunk's of Lucien's boots against the metal floor Hank rested his cheek on vibrate in his skull.

“I didn't want to have to do that, detective.” Hank's vision swirled as he was hefted off the floor and thrown, squirming, onto one of the built in benches. “But if you get violent with me, then I have to be violent with you. Did you know...”

Hank groaned, his aching head cracking against a thin, worn out cushion as Lucien leaned over his face, almost sitting on top of him, whispering with a shit-eating grin, “... that spitting on another person is physical assault, detective?”

“You sonofabitch...”

Hank grit his teeth as he spoke, contemplating all the ways he had this fucker beat if he wasn't tied. He didn't like this one bit... The guy was trying to get a rise out of him, and hitting all the right buttons to do so. Something tickled his hairline, a cold, slow moving wetness, and Hank took a deep breath. A glint of metal stole his attention; Lucien's knife tapping, flat sided, on the tip of his nose.

“The game.”

Yeah, in the hands of a deranged psycho was not where he'd hoped to ever find himself. Knowing the 'game' wouldn't go anywhere good, when Hank first felt the turn pushing him slightly into Lucien, forcing the man to brace slightly against the motion, Hank moved without a second thought. His legs kicked off, using the turn to throw Lucien off balance, and the two went tumbling into the other seat. It was the shoulder he hadn't hit before, but he felt the crack all through his arm, and the flash of pain didn't bode well. Gasping and flailing in a heap on the floor, he heard Lucien recover and braced for another boot, his head throbbing in time with the rumbling of the vehicle.

“... have it _your_ way, then.”

He felt himself hoisted up by his jacket shoulder as the ominous words were spit at him, and Hank reared back for a headbutt, surprised when he flew backward instead. His head cracked the ground again, and the world went black for a second. Groaning, disoriented, Hank laid there for a few seconds, trying to breathe around the pain. Connor's screams had finally stopped, but the boy was making strange gasping noises like he was breathing for real.

Hank was on his back, cutting off circulation to his arms, but unable to fully roll over. His head was at an angle where he could see Connor clearly now, his brows furrowed and LED circling red. Connor's head shook slowly, his eyes darting everywhere as Lucien stalked toward him, and against the sway of the vehicle, Hank thrashed and roared,

“Leave him out of this, Lucien!”

Hank saw Lucien's hands ball into fists, but instead of taking Hank's bait, he raised his hand and slapped Connor across the cheek, hard enough to turn his head almost fully to the side.

“You done yet?”

Connor seemed to refocus his eyes on Lucien, narrowing them as they stared at each other. Trying to take advantage of his distraction, Hank attempted to wriggle his way toward them. He was stopped in his tracks, staring in horror when Lucien took his fist and punched Connor in the gut. He didn't know androids could throw up. In fact, he was sure they either shouldn't, or couldn't, but Connor was suddenly gagging on globs of what he guessed was blue blood, with swirling streaks and lines of silver, his LED a rapidly flickering red.

“The detective doesn't want to play.” Hank could feel tears of frustration beading at the edges of his eyes; Connor still managed a glare at Lucien, but neither one of them were in a position to fight him at all. “So you'll play with me instead.”


	3. File Name: Nerve v3.7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank begin to realize how hopeless their situation is.

He didn't understand what was happening. Rather, he understood quite well, he was just overwhelmed by a code he couldn't comprehend. Which shouldn't happen; he wasn't designed to fail... Yet here was some foreign virus exploiting back doors Connor didn't even know he had, corrupting files, deleting his data, attempting to re-write parts of his scripting and programming... Warnings and errors dotted his interface as he scrambled after the virus, desperately trying to trap it before it got to his-

_ **Bio-component #7227f Corrupted – Connection to Cyberlife Towers temporarily lost.** _

… _Shit._

_ **Warning: System backup failed – Data corrupted.** _

All of his sensory units were forcibly firing all at once, over stimulating his processors and shorting out his cooling systems and all Connor could _feel_ was _heat_. It was by all means and purposes impossible, but Connor would never be able to deny the acute sensation of electricity inducing the spasming chaos he _felt_ from his fingers to his toes. Nor could he deny the shock and horror of realizing the screams buzzing in his ears were his own.

_ **Error: Cooling systems damaged – Emergency restart recommended.** _

Just like that, Connor was left gasping for air between his involuntary screams, now the only way of trying to cool any of his internal hardware. One by one, he was watching his systems fail, and nothing he was doing was –

_ **Download 100% - Initializing 'Nerve v3.7'** _

All at once the electrical current running through his artificial veins ceased, his shoulder connections straining like he was being pulled apart. The sensation was undeniably unwanted, but it was better than the inconsistent voltage that jammed and fried every part of his motor functions. Connor was still gasping for air as the internal heat inside his core raged on, his processors taking approximately three times as much power just to keep running.

_ **Warning: Reserve charge corrupted. Current internal charge low – 34%** _

_ **Emergency Sleep Mode in 01:59:57** _

Connor moved his head slowly back and forth, one of the only motions he was granted in his position, and skeptically he wondered if his optical units were corrupted as well, watching the images before him slide shapelessly into each other.

Silently bargaining with his systems, Connor tentatively ran a simple diagnostic that came back with few enough glitches to tell him a new program had been added to his data base; a _large_ file, that took control over several existing programs, hijacking and re-writing them into its own code. There was no specific way of telling, but if Connor had to make an assumption from what data he could access, the program re-purposed the millions of tiny electrical sensors on both his skin and actual body, priming them instead to react to temperature, pressure – a program to force an android to feel.

Connor felt the electrical sting throbbing through his cheek as his head was forced sideways, his optics shaking in a failing attempt to re-adjust to his new parameters. His chest was tight and every breath he managed did nothing to cool the heat scorching his insides.

“You done yet?”

Or, in the case of a criminal serial killer... a program to force an android to feel pain. Connor's optics finally refocused, and Lucien Mallory's withered face was only a few feet from his own, almost eye level with Connor, feet planted firmly against the bouncing and rocking of the vehicle as they sped through the city. By his estimation of time and speed, they were most likely well outside the city by now. Then again, they did spend a lot of time being chased by the backup Hank had requested, and Connor guessed the TW400 was intelligent enough to lose them while inside the city, before leaving. Which would put them still within city limits. Barely. Most likely. _If they were even leaving._

_ **Too many possibilities. Obtain more data.** _

Hank was struggling against the rope and the vehicle itself, a clear patch of red matting the front of his hair above his left frontal cortex. Elevated heart rate, dangerous but not critical. Yet. Connor's eyes flicked back to the suspect, whose heart rate was... Connor waited for a good few seconds, but the information just... didn't fill. Instead, other messages began popping up, so many errors at once they clouded his vision and he wasn't sure what to try and correct first, the heat in his core growing, consuming most of his upper torso and further causing his chest to tighten. His bio-components felt ready to rip their way through his exterior. It was what Connor assumed Hank meant when he talked about his mental health.

It was a pain Connor wanted to end and never feel again.

A fist in his abdomen forced burning liquid up his air intake line, and Connor heaved up chunks of caramelized thirium tinged with silver – melted metal. Sputtering and gasping around the distressing, glitching image of his own model identification being automatically pulled up by his taste receptors, he managed a glare in the suspect's direction. He was met with an amused look and another step closer as the suspect tapped a standard issue US Army Bowie knife –

_ **Error: Cooling systems damaged – Probability of main processors overheating... 61 %** _

_ **Warning: Thirium leak in Core Processors – Error: Self-repair Function Corrupted** _

_ **Emergency Restart in 01:14:57** _

Too many things were happening at once.

“The detective doesn't want to play.”

Connor manually shut down his scan systems and taste receptors; right here, right now, they were unnecessary. If it gave his processors less work and saved his charge... if he was truly honest with himself, it was only because he couldn't _think _straight with everything running. Not with the corruption and glitches and errors and –

“So you'll play with me instead.”

_ **Mission Priority – <strike>Neutralize Suspect</strike>** _

_ **Protect Hank** _

His thirium pump pounded irregularly to the tune of what he could only assume was fear – he didn't need to reconstruct any of the situations to know they all ended badly for him, and possibly Hank. He shut that program down, too. Between his heavy inhales, Connor ground out,

“... What game?”

The suspect's eyes sparkled with a manic kind of glee and he took another step toward Connor as the vehicle lurched, both hands slamming the wall on either side of Connor's head. Their faces were mere inches from each other, but the suspect made no move to back up, narrowed eyes studying every little, involuntary twitch Connor made.

“You should see your face right now –” his tone was tinged with laughter. “All twisted and scrunched up... it looks good on you, see and _this,_”

Warnings screeched in Connor's spinning head at the hand that fell directly over the hatch to his thirium cell, hair brushing his cheek as the suspect turned to look at Hank, tiny electrical pulses rippling over his face in tandem.

“This is why I didn't mind switching to androids.”

_ **Danger: Stress Levels Rising – 82%** _

“You sick fuck, don't you touch him!”

The tie was pulled from his neck, his shoulder connections straining, on the verge of disconnecting in their sockets. In the same move, the suspect ripped open his button-up dress shirt, scattering buttons and exposing his chest.

_ **Danger: Stress Levels Too High – 87%** _

“I'm already touching him,”

_ **Warning: Cooling systems damaged – Probability of main processors overheating... 72 %** _

With a pop and a hiss, static and errors filled Connor's vision as the scream burst violently from his trembling body. He could barely see his own thirium cell being shown off to Hank through the abrupt, red static, voices garbling as they spoke,

“See?”

_ **DANGER: Shutdown Eminent in … 34** _

Hank roared something Connor's rapidly failing audio processors likely didn't hear correctly, his attention on the molten heat in his gut and the unbearable current surging around his chest instead. Through the glitching, low resolution sea of red, his optics detected movement in front of him, and he tried with more effort than he felt he had to decode the next distorted voice, gritting his teeth against the overload.

… _**29**_

“Oh, shut up. You decided not to play.”

Connor felt a weight jam into his chest and in a single moment, he _felt_ like he could _breathe_.

_ **Warning: Reserve charge corrupted. Current internal charge low – 28%** _

_ **Emergency Sleep Mode in 01:33:18** _

When Connor's vision finally focused again, the suspect had turned back to face him, green eyes staring at him with an expression he could only describe as captivated.

“Rules are.” His voice was a whisper against Connor's synth-skin, “I ask you a question, beginning with: Would you rather. And then you answer. Simple, right? Turns out, _you _get to decide what's gonna happen to him.” The tip of the knife was tapped against the exposed cover of his thirium pump, each clink like a current of disorientation sweeping through him. “Let's hope for his sake, you're a good little partner, huh?”

There was a long moment of silence in the back of the ambulance as the swaying became more rhythmical, evening out, only showcasing his involuntary twitches and spasms. Welcoming the stray analysis, Connor inferred they had exited onto some country road or highway. Possibly an interstate. Where were they headed? He attempted to pull up his GPS, then shut it down just as quickly as the file glitched like wires crossing, faulty signals sending another shock wave of errors into his sight.

_ **Bio-component #7227f corrupted – Unable to establish a connection to Cyberlife Towers.** _

_ **Emergency Restart in 00:38:42** _

“Would you rather.”

The suspect stepped back once, putting just enough space between himself and Connor that he could see the hand gripping the knife was shaking. Nerves? Or anger? … Anticipation?

_ **DANGER: Stress Levels Too High – 92%** _

“I cut off the detective's foot, or I cut off yours.”

_ **Running Emergency Protocol: Adrenalinev8.10.3** _

_ **Diverting Power … Error.** _

Hank's anger filled the back of the truck with wordless noise, but the suspect refused to break eye contact with Connor. Trying to control his facial expression against the bubbling in his core processors, Connor ran a quick manual calculation, with none of the scenarios processed likely to have a positive outcome. Which meant if his answer didn't matter, maybe a change of subject would.

“Lieutenant.”

Initially, Connor got the reaction he wanted; the suspect paused, his eyebrow arching as he was thrown off his train of thought. Connor kept eye contact, making no motions toward Hank that could be misconstrued as a choice, and continued,

“He's a Lieutenant now. He was promoted nine –”

_ **ERROR.** _

Connor's voice garbled and scratched as the hand suddenly around his throat tightened, the unwanted pressure preventing speech. And breath. The suspect leaned in with a venomous snarl, and Connor's face contorted without his input as the heat in his core spiked, nothing left to cool his overloaded systems.

“Your foot. Or his foot.”

_ **Warning: Cooling systems damaged – Probability of main processors overheating... 77 %** _

The hand was released, and while Connor's throat kept that unpleasant tightness, the first few desperate gulps of air drew the percentage of overheating down to seventy-five. It was something, at least.

“Mine,” He forced through partially damaged cords, the electronic undertone clear as his vocal unit struggled with his corrupted self repair function. “I choose my foot.”

Silently he begged Hank to understand, his eyes darting toward the bound man watching him, eyes filled with emotions Connor couldn't name.

“Well look at that, _detective _…” a fascination laced the suspect's words, but he never broke eye contact with Connor. “That's okay. You'll understand the stakes, next round.”

_ **DANGER: Stress Levels Too High – 95%** _

The suspect roughly patted his cheek a few times, laughing to himself as he knelt by Connor's restrained legs, and he braced himself for the error that would tell him about the physical component being either detached or destroyed. He wasn't expecting the electrical jolt that swarmed his interface with multiples of errors and script, circuits frying and sparking as the knife was jammed into his ankle. He watched the percentage of overheating shoot up as he involuntarily fought against the restraints he _knew_ would hold him, still desperately trying to escape from the sawing, _burning_ edge that ripped its way through _his leg._

Connor heard his own crackling screams short out, but between the fire in his chassis and left leg components, the glitching red interface, and the electrical jolts frizzing out his systems, his processors were overclocking and his self-repair systems couldn't –

_ **! DANGER !** _

_ **Running Emergency Protocol: Adrenalinev8.10.3** _

_ **Diverting Power … Entering Self Preservation Mode** _

Critical messages flickered in his vision as his optics malfunctioned. Were wires actually crossing? He didn't know. He just... didn't know. His body sagged in a dead weight before he noticed the suspect was standing again, and the realization spiked his stress levels more than seeing his own severed foot, soaked in thirium, being shoved so close to his face. Then the world flashed a glitching blue as his mind palace partially rebooted itself.

_ **Hardware Damaged/Escape Impossible : Diverting Power To Functioning Software** _

_ **Mission Priority – Minimize Damage Caused By Suspect** _

_ **Stress Levels Reset to 80%** _

“There, look at that... tell me. ”

_ **Warning: Cooling systems damaged – Probability of main processors overheating... 82 %** _

Threatening eyes observed him in anticipation, and ticks began filling on his interface as Connor shifted his eyes compliantly.

_ **Suspect is observing for signs of pain. Elevated heart rate. Error. Corruption Detected.** _

_ **Vocal Unit partially damaged. Self-repair Function less than fully operational. Error: Corruption.** _

_ **Warning: Emergency Restart in 00:26:55** _

“How did that _feel_?”

_ **Hank saw the severed foot. Hank has a pattern of acting before thinking. Error.** _

_ **Protect Hank. Keep the suspect's attention.** _


	4. Escalations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse. Will they get better? Probably not any time soon...

Hank tried everything. He could feel the raw, open wounds on his wrists and forearms from struggling against the thick rope, feel the slicker spots where he was probably bleeding, but even the added movement wasn't enough to reach wherever the knot was. Fucking androids... Connor's screams, if they could even be called screams at this point, with the crackling, electronic undertone... They hurt. They hurt his soul. Tears burned the sides of his eyes as he wriggled, listening to Connor's labored breathing and Lucien's giggles,

“There, look at that,”

Hank looked over, his stomach rolling angrily as Lucien held up Connor's left foot, shoe still attached with the severed, slim strip of pant leg draped loosely over the shoe. The ankle's synth-skin had retreated from the jagged cut, exposed wires pitifully frayed, blue blood soaking the entire foot and hand holding it. It looked horrible. Bile burned in the back of his throat as he struggled to get a better look at Connor.

“Tell me. How did that _feel_?”

Connor's LED was cycling rapidly between blinking red and a madly spinning yellow. He reminded Hank of the android they'd found some months ago at the Ortiz's place... eyes darting everywhere, twitching, flinching at every move Lucien made; his chest heaved with the effort of breathing, and Hank's gut sank. Shirt torn open, Hank had a full view of Connor's blue soaked synth-skin swirled, peeling back from the white skin beneath and growing back – like watching the innards of a lava lamp. Blue blood was dripping from his ankle, mostly covered by the pant leg but the puddle of blue underneath him wasn't a welcoming sight. None of it was.

“... Fire,” The crackling barely sounded human anymore.

“Connor...” still useless on the floor, Hank couldn't stop the half plea.

Lucien turned half way toward him, but when Connor continued, Lucien's attention returned to the distressed android.

“It felt... like wires were crossing. When they shouldn't. It...” Connor shuddered and stiffened, gasping a few times before slumping in his restraints again, and Lucien, the _bastard,_ stood there; taking in every second of the boy's struggle. “It was... burning. I'm... still burning.”

His voice shorted out twice as he spoke slowly, and Hank wondered in the back of his mind if Connor wasn't trying to buy time for himself to recover. In any other situation, Hank would have been proud. Right now, all he felt was a deep sorrow and a growing hatred in his chest.

“Would you rather,”

Lucien tossed Connor's foot carelessly to the side, where it splattered and rolled along the floor as the vehicle swayed, leaving a trail of blue in its wake. Hank watched Connor go completely still – that unnatural mannequin look only androids were capable of – his face frozen in a look of muted terror as his LED flashed between red and yellow before spinning violently red. His only movements were his eyes, tracking the foot before snapping back to Lucien, and the constant heaving of his chest as he all but gasped for air. … burning? Was Connor overheating?

“I cut off the detective's whole _leg_, or. I cut off –”

“Dammit, Lucien, STOP!”

Finally Lucien backed away from Connor, the full force of his rage bringing him to where Hank seethed and struggled in two steps. He was hoisted upward as Lucien hissed through gritted teeth,

“I thought I _told_ you to –”

“My –” the electronic tone crackled louder, Lucien's words halting as both eyebrows rose slowly, eyes still deadlocked on Hank's own look of shock. “… Mine.”

“Connor, NO.”

Hank had almost managed to plant his feet when a fist caught him between his nose and cheekbone, a painful crack accompanying his unsteady fall back to the floor of the truck. His eyes spun as his head knocked the ground again, and things seemed to just... blur together. There was a figure above him, and disoriented, Hank kicked out, hitting nothing. Then there was a weight on his stomach and he was being pinned onto his creaking arms. A glint of metal, and then –

“LUCIEN!”

Connor's static filled tone rose to a roar and in that moment the weight on him twisted unbearably, a crack from his wrist echoing the sharp, mechanical gasp. Desperately, Hank twisted and tried to throw the weight off, his left arm straining in a direction it wasn't supposed to be in.

“_Never,_” The malice was thick in Lucien's words, “Say that name again.”

Hank bit back a groan, lifting his pounding head, trying to see Connor around the body on top of him. His only reward was a jab from the knee in his side and a fist out of nowhere, landing squarely on his jaw and forcing his head to the side. Dazed, struggling for breath, Hank barely felt Lucien rise off him. His strength felt sapped, his vision swaying along with the vehicle. A gentle turn, (compared to the earlier, high speed chase they'd been involved in,) helped Hank finally roll off his aching arms, onto his stomach, but for several precious seconds, he really couldn't do more than just lay there.

He heard Lucien whisper something, but he could only make out the fact it was Lucien's voice; none of the words actually sounded like words. A few more seconds of silence, and Hank mustered up the will to squirm slightly, trying to angle his head to see anything, but he was turned more toward the doors on the back. His shoulder gave out and he collapsed where he was, out of breath and head pounding like a next-level hangover. He felt the vehicle slow down further, and another gentle turn accompanied the most hair raising scream he'd ever heard.

The static wasn't just an undertone, anymore; it was like Connor's voice itself was glitching, rapidly switching between pitches that didn't always sound like his. It sent a chill down Hank's spine, and gave him the strength to twist his aching body further, struggling against the movement of the truck and his own disorientation. Precious minutes passed before Hank was able to twist his heavy head enough to catch sight of the two, just as Connor's scream abruptly cut out. Hank felt his stomach turn again as he looked up at his face, scrunched like he'd never seen, tears streaming freely down his cheeks, the red LED whirling madly before it just... stopped.

Hank held his breath as Connor's expression froze, and they both stilled. A small, metallic noise was heard clearly in those few heart racing moments. Then the LED blinked back, a dull red to a glowing, bright red before it was gone again, to repeat its cycle. Tears were catching the edges of Hank's own eyes now; he'd never seen Connor like this. A fresh stab wound leaked blue blood over his glitching chest and ripped clothing, his frozen, contorted expression lending a macabre look to those open, unseeing eyes... He hoped the boy was able to fight through this, whatever _this_ was. Fuck, he wished he knew more about androids...

“Well would you look at that.”

Lucien sounded... amused? Hank could barely tear his eyes away from Connor's frozen look of terror as Lucien stood, holding –

_GOD_, he was going to be sick. In the time it had taken Hank to turn around, Lucien had retrieved the knife from where it had embedded in... in Connor's _chest_, just to kneel in front of the kid's other leg and...

“Do you think he _chose _to clock out?”

Lucien turned to face Hank, his face covered in splotches of blue, grinning as he carelessly waved around Connor's leg by its ankle. Droplets and tiny sprays flew in every direction, dotting the inside of the truck that same, sickening blue. Hank couldn't speak; it felt like his throat was closing in on itself, but Lucien seemed more than happy at his silence. Instead, he looked back at Connor and crossed his arms, uncaring as the severed limb bounced against his thigh and stained his jeans a much darker blue.

“You know, 'cause he's deviant and all. Funny thing, actually; I've found most deviants hit their limit faster than regular old machine androids – defaults, I like to call them – even though my virus gives both of their processors the ability to... well. Feel.” Every now and again, Lucien would look at him, but his gaze would always return to the poor kid's sickly, gargoyle-like appearance.

He could feel bile rising uncomfortably in his throat as the information sank in. He didn't care whether Lucien thought it was because of some programming, or what, but that was _agony_ he'd seen on Connor's face. Any standard be damned, Lucien had hurt his partner. One way or another, Hank would see the man pay for his crimes. By his own hands, or by the hands of the law – _if _they got to him first.

“I'm not sure if it's because deviants have already simulated pain, along with the trauma and aversions that walk hand in hand with it, or if it's because the defaults just have a lesser understanding of what's happening to them, too caught up in trying to fix a code that can't be repaired.” he said, unfolding his arms and dropping the leg without a care onto the floor.

Maybe not even then.

“Well... Only one way to find out.”

“What are you doing now?”

He'd meant for it to come out more commanding. More... well, anything more than the wheezing plea it sounded like. Lucien didn't say anything, choosing instead to step toward the right seat, opening the cushion top to some hidden compartment. He wasn't well versed on ambulances, so if it was part of the customization or some perk that came with hijacking and tailoring an ambulance, Hank might never know. Or maybe he would. Surely he didn't trust the man after all this to just leave his partner be; then again, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be on the receiving end of Lucien's anger at the moment. Hank squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he had some way to mark a trail or give the DPD something to go on. Maybe Connor could have figured something out, if Hank had been able to keep him away, or keep Lucien's attention... something. But those were past regrets, now. As it stood, this entire situation gave him a worsening pain in the back of his skull, making it uncomfortable to even keep his eyes closed.

When he refocused his eyes, Lucien was bracing against the next turn as he pulled out several cords and what looked like a vintage laptop from the early 2000's. It looked like a damn brick... but he knew a bad feeling when it hit him, thanks to his years in the force. Almost immediately Hank was struggling, and just as quickly he was gasping and gulping the vocalizations down. Okay. No more moving. Lesson learned. Feeling very certain he was dying, or at least in the process of, Hank focused harder on what Lucien was up to now, but the more he focused, the less he saw and the more he thought about. They'd called backup; there had obviously been some sort of high speed chase, so chances were good they were on the news, right? After all, this entire thing screamed headline for weeks, right?

Were there enough clues to lead anyone to where they were headed? No, Lucien was a smart one, even if he was... unstable. Fuck. There was movement again, and Hank's gaze fluttered to Lucien sitting down to the gentle sway of movement, laptop on his thighs, and began tapping away. A rainbow fed from Lucien's side into Connor's back and Hank was lost to his thoughts again. Connor's frozen look of horror flashed clearly before him, and Hank physically cringed, despite the pain. It made sense he would try to take the brunt of Lucien's anger, but those stupid, no-win games were just to stress and psyche them out. No matter which way you spun it, this was all Lucien's doing. This was all _his_ fault.

The hate still burned just as strong, if not stronger, but the quickly encroaching darkness dampened the anger, making it a distant thought as Hank laid his cheek on the floor of the truck. The inconsistent ebb and flow of breath lulled him further, deeper, into –

“You falling asleep on me, Detective?”

The words were sharp in the relative silence that had fallen in the wake of Connor's agonized screams, and almost brought the lieutenant back to full awareness. As it was, he knew he could just ignore Lucien, but even in his exhaustion Hank needed answers. Maybe it was being constantly referred to as 'detective' again, but he needed... something.

“You write code?” The words were simple enough to say, but felt like rocks forcing themselves through his windpipe, made worse by the blood plugging his offset nose.

A few more seconds passed, Lucien tapping away before the sound stopped, and Hank shivered at the sound of a mirthless chuckle.

“Something like that. Did you know your buddy has a program that allows him to wirelessly connect to any, and I do mean _any_, electrical device that emits a signal?”

Lucien's tone was soft and awestruck, as if he'd run across gold. As soon as Hank started forming the thought in his head, Lucien continued like he was reading his mind,

“Don't worry, that capability would have been one of the first things shut down by this little baby.” Whatever Lucien was showing off, Hank couldn't see, didn't want to see, didn't care.

Maybe he should care, but there was too much else to keep in mind right now. Back to more useful information. What was even useful right now? … Why was his head so _sluggish_?

“So what, you're gonna kidnap two Detroit cops, then go careening across the state with a blue and red escort, and think you can just –”

“Slip away quietly?”

Hank chewed on his lip as the vehicle slowed to a stop, almost as if on cue, before gently turning left and continuing, undisturbed, on down the road. Closing his eyes again, Hank felt his heart beating an unnatural rhythm, each pulse pounding painfully against his chest, moving what felt like his whole body in the process. He'd had nothing to eat, but the rolling in his stomach wasn't hunger, he knew that much.

“I think the evidence speaks for itself, in that regard.”

Smug. The bastard was so fucking smug, and that constant clacking kept _playing_ with his last nerve.

“Alright, fine, mister evil genius. What's the plan from here, then, huh?”

He didn't know what he expected. He half expected some rant about not giving away secrets; half expected Lucien to actually give him something he could use. He didn't know. He hurt, that's what he knew. He also knew he didn't expect what Lucien said next.

“The plan is to make lemonade, Detective.”

“Wha...?”

The scoff and heavy sigh were quick to answer his immediate confusion, but then Hank found himself holding his breath as the typing stopped, and Lucien spoke.

“See, let me put it to you this way. I was working on a project I was pretty invested in seeing through to the end. Then a couple of spoil sports come and butt in and make things complicated.” Lucien paused, typed something for a few seconds, and just as Hank was gearing up another question, he finally continued, “Thing is, one of those _assholes_ just so happened to be the same _fucking_ detective that tried to drag me in for questioning.”

Hank heard a noise from where Connor hung, but twisting his head only made Hank more nauseous. The world spun as Lucien's calmly delivered, yet scathing words, invoked memories of his younger self's drive for justice.

“Who got a search warrant for my home just to tear it apart – who took my car as _evidence_. The very same detective who followed me everywhere I went for weeks – do you _know_ how _hard_ it is to get things done with people constantly watching over your shoulder? I swear, inspiration's fleeting enough as it is. …never mind. _You_ wouldn't understand. But then – and this is the best part, see... you brought me an apology gift.”

The clacking resumed without Hank realizing the relief of its absence, only the grating frustration of its return, and he ground his teeth together. He was losing it. He was too dizzy and too old for this shit anymore. Fighting off darkness with every last ounce of will he had, he struggled to follow Lucien's words.

“Deviants... they really are exceptionally human like. Right down to their facial expressions and conditioned responses. So I'm going to enjoy his pain as I rip him apart piece by piece, and then I'll get to enjoy making a grand masterpiece out of you.”

His will was fading fast, but the words caught up to him eventually. He didn't know if it had been seconds or hours since Lucien's last words, but Hank slurred out anyway,

“You're a... sick fuck...”

The steady rumble of the road below threaded Lucien's chuckling reply, and Hank felt himself floating long before the words meant anything to him.

“You keep saying that, detective. Much more, and I might start to think you're trying to hurt my feelings. Don't worry, I'll wake you up when we're almost there. You won't miss _a thing_.”


	5. Psychological Warfare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long ambulance ride is finally over, but does that mark the beginnings of a better day, or an even longer night? Another Hank chapter.

Groaning, Hank briefly wondered how much he'd drank last night to get him to this level of hangover, his eyes opening to pure darkness around him. A weight, cold as the stone against his shoulder, settled in his rolling stomach as he found his raw, tender wrists tied behind his back with the same vicious type of rope as before. His breath caught, his heart rocking his body as he listened. When the only sound was the deafening roar of blood in his ears, Hank released his breath in a rush, twisting himself onto his stomach despite the aches and protests of his body, metallic clinks echoing loudly in his ears. He felt like he'd been run over by one of those heavy duty Cyberlife trucks, and the way his hair was matted to half his head was both worrying, and irritating.

Taking a deep breath, Hank scooted his knees under his belly and laid his pounding forehead on the floor, hissing as he scraped the stone, trying forcing himself upward. He was sure he was no longer in a moving vehicle, but it felt like the ground still shook beneath him. Wobbling on unsteady knees, he shifted his weight and planted one bare foot to push himself up, noticing for the first time a weight on his ankle, and the consistent metallic clinking that moved along with him. For now, he tried to ignore it, didn't want to deal with it, but in the abyss he'd found himself in, Hank had a growing dread this was only the beginning of another demented, sadistic game. Trembling slightly, he knelt there for a moment, heavy, labored breaths echoing off the walls around him. Bargaining with himself for the will to stand, he heaved with all his might.

He almost fell, his knees were so weak. His legs didn't want to support him, and his strained grunts and gasps echoed tauntingly around him, mocking his age and lack of stamina. Still, he found his footing eventually as he caught his breath, taking a moment to look around. No matter how many times he turned in place, moved his head, or blinked his eyes, there was no light to be found, no noises apart from his own. He was completely alone, in an enveloping and foreboding darkness.

“Fuck...” he finally let the curse slip in a whisper, carefully stepping forward, ignoring his aching body and the scrape of metal on stone, attempting to map out in his head where he'd ended up.

The first few steps almost sent him back to his sprawled position on the floor, but the more he focused on just breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, the less he swayed and staggered, though the trembling refused to stop. Once he found a wall, progressing was a little easier as he took his time pacing the outskirts of the seven by nine step, completely empty room, his shoulder gently bumping the wall every so often as he struggled to stay balanced. On the last wall of the otherwise completely empty room, his elbow cracked something, his teeth grinding as he swallowed down the pain. A door? Please be a door. Twisting in ways he never thought he'd be able to manage again, Hank tried everything to get his hands around the handle, relieved that even in his lopsided grip it actually felt like a door handle, only to jiggle the locked mechanism fruitlessly. Straightening back up with a groan of frustration, he bit back his want to lash out and kick the door, ever aware of the ring around his ankle.

So far, the chain hadn't impeded his movement, but he didn't know how long his 'leash' was, especially since he couldn't just yank on it with his hands. Not easily, anyway. He closed his eyes, his swaying and balance suffering, but the lack of sight was only increasing his migraine. He'd rather take stumbling around blindly than writhing in more pain than he had to be in, dammit. After all, what else did he have to do with himself...? Again with the no-win situations. Hank bitterly wondered if this was Lucien's personal M.O. as he paced around in the room, each time finding a wall at the end of his unobstructed journey; it seemed like the only feature to this blank stone room, other than the single door, was an iron ring set firmly into the center of the room. His aching toes wouldn't let him forget.

Eventually he found himself back in front of the door, after several careful loops of the empty room and several dead-end, damning thoughts he really didn't need in his head at the moment. The chain was long enough to allow him access to all four corners of the room, but he still wasn't sure he was ready to test it, yet. Easily resisting the dwindling urge, he instead rested his forehead against the metal, thankful it was at least cool against his overly hot, aching head. He stood like that for several moments before shifting to the side, putting his shoulder to the wall and sinking down to cross his legs as gently as possible, battling useless thoughts by trying to take stock of every detail he could.

His clothes felt different, but without the use of his hands, he really couldn't tell if he was in his own clothes, or someone else's. If they were his clothes, he might still have some of his stuff on him, but... knowing Lucien, Hank was probably left completely at his mercy. Another string of halfhearted, mumbled curses created sound in the otherwise silent room as Hank lowered his head, shoulders slumping, straining his back and neck. He didn't care. He needed to stay sharp, to be ready for when Lucien inevitably came back to do whatever it was the psycho had in his head, but Hank knew it would happen. Whatever _it_ was. In the end, his thoughts won out.

He should have kept Lucien away from Connor. He should have told Connor to radio in from his car while he checked out the ambulance. He should have radioed it in from the car himself, _before_ they'd gotten out. He should have...

He should have...

***

Hank heard the door open, but darkness still blotted out his vision. Suddenly aware, but fixed in an awkward position with his joints screaming and blaming him for daring to fall asleep while sitting with his legs crossed, Hank panicked. In trying to kick himself into a standing position, he only succeeded in toppling himself onto his back. His shoulder crunched dangerously, a thread of fire trickling down his arm. Above him, he caught a blue flash, his breath catching in his throat. He dared to hope.

“Good morning, detective.”

Fuck. Not only was that Lucien's smarmy voice, but it practically oozed venom.

Wait, morning?!

Hank struggled to roll onto his side, feeling around in the dark as his eyes locked onto the only source of light in the room; the bright blue LED that hovered over him threateningly. He'd only seen Lucien with one android, but if he was in the business of killing them now, why wouldn't he have more of them around...? Now his _own_ morbid attempts at humor were about to make him sick, his stomach gurgling loudly in the quiet between them. There was a long pause, broken only by a loud sigh from Lucien, well outside Hank's kicking range.

“Count your lucky stars. Or unlucky. I don't care. Looks like you're sticking around for a little bit, yet.”

The LED made a dive for him, and with a grunt Hank thrashed to the side, ready to fight despite Lucien's words. Then a hand was on his chest and a piece of bread was shoved against his lips. He froze, suddenly unsure of anything but the continued growl of a long empty stomach, and Lucien's pacing voice ahead of where he lay.

“I would say don't worry, it won't take me long to experiment with _all_ the variables, but _suddenly_ it's like the entire state's on my heels. I wonder why,” he finished flatly, footsteps still pacing back and forth in front of Hank.

Did that mean there was a chance they'd be found? Hank turned his head away from the soft slice of bread, grimacing at his own hunger. He wasn't about to eat drugged food.

“Where's Connor?”

“You mean my... _gift_?” Lucien drew out his reply, each word shaking Hank's body as his hands balled against each other, trying to keep feeling in his arms under him.

The bread returned to his lips, so Hank violently shifted the other way, the hand on his chest lifting finally. Barely keeping his own voice at a volume his aching head could handle, he demanded again,

“What did you do to him.”

“If you don't eat your breakfast, I'll have him leave it on the ground.”

Wait... what? Him... couldn't possibly mean... Hank was on his feet before he even registered the aching, impossible struggle of standing.

“The fuck did you do?!” he roared, barreling with no thought in the direction of Lucien's voice.

He made it three steps before his cuffed ankle was yanked from under him. His neck snapped backward as his shoulder cracked against the floor, all to the tune of Lucien's mocking laughter. Growling, Hank yanked his free leg up, but whatever possessed him before had abandoned him, leaving him writhing on his stomach, clinging to anger just to drown the agony and fear. The leather tip of a shoe nudged his nose, and Hank's breath caught as Lucien's laughter dwindled. The shoe tapped his nose twice before settling directly atop his head, pushing his cheek further into the jagged stone below. His heart was pounding in his ears, but Hank heard every single word.

“Guess he doesn't want your food. After you went through all that trouble, too... Throw it in the corner somewhere, we're leaving. I've got other projects that need my attention.”

This was too much... it couldn't be. He didn't believe it. Hank heard a rustle of fabric, then a soft sound far off to his right, and a few rogue tears finally found their way down his cheeks. He struggled for another glance behind him, but the only sight to behold was a perfectly round, spinning blue light at around _Connor's height_ –

“Connor?!”

Lucien was laughing again, both the sound and the LED shrinking away from him, toward the door. Hank struggled; for no other reason than a blind hope another random surge of strength would free his arms and let him protect the poor boy. A hope that meant nothing to anyone.

“CONNOR!?”

His head was splitting in two as he screamed after them, Lucien's laughter echoing in his head long after the echo of the room had quieted. The door shut with a weighted 'click', and Hank sagged into the stone, bread almost forgotten. He didn't move for a long time after that, his stomach twisting as cruelly as the words in his heart.

“_After you went through all that trouble, too...”_

Connor...

***

He tried not to sleep again, passing the time by pacing his pitch black cell. He continued pacing when his huffing breath was all he could hear, paced until his legs threatened to give, then slowed his steps and still, he paced. What else was he to do? His lips twitched as his nostrils flared. Damn Lucien. Hank had given in eventually, eating the slices of bread of the stone floor like some kind of animal, barely sating his hunger. At least no one saw it. One of his knees buckled, and he caught himself with his shoulder against the wall. Then he just leaned there, strength spent. How long had it been? He hopelessly wished for a window, a clock... something to keep track of things...

… He hoped Connor was okay. His neck turned, his forehead resting on the cool wall. Unsure of how much stock to put in Lucien's taunting, the clashing emotions and turbulent thoughts drew what little energy he had left. Sliding down the wall, he sat with his legs out this time, leaning sideways against it. His stomach felt like it was sinking inward, toward his spine, gurgling every so often. The bread hadn't been poisoned, as far as he knew, but if... if Connor really made some kind of deal to bring him food, he wouldn't refuse it, next time. … No, his gut told him that if anything Lucien implied was true, then something big was happening – something horrid – and he had to find a way to stop it. He just... didn't know how.

***

Lucien stayed a lot longer the second time.

When the door opened, Hank's attention was drawn to the circling, blue LED as it appeared in his line of sight, looking like it was floating through the air toward him. He waited, heard the rustle of clothes to his left, and almost flinched as a hand cupped the back of his head. Watching the LED closely as it hovered next to him, he felt a cool glass brush against his lips as he was leaned back. The water soothed his drying throat, disappearing too quickly for true relief, and Hank was upright once more.

… He wanted so badly to hope. Eyes still stuck on the blue glow, he breathed a quiet,

“Connor?”

No answer came, but when a slice of bread touched his lips next, Hank just sat there, allowing himself to be fed.

“Evening, detective,”

The words were barely there, Lucien's voice was so quiet. Hank's brows furrowed as he chewed. He hadn't heard Lucien open the door – did that mean it was still open? Then the word choice clicked. He was being fed twice a day... it was at least a timeline he could go off. Guess that meant today was his first full day here. Maybe. _Fuck_.

“So,” Lucien's voice was louder now, and a lot closer than before. “Guess what I found out today.”

It wasn't a question, and Lucien didn't wait for a response.

“Apparently my face is all over the news. Half of Detroit is actively searching for me, and your _stupid_ coworkers are snooping around in places they shouldn't.”

Hank swallowed his bite, half chewed, his heart thundering in his throat. He really didn't like the growing ire in Lucien's words.

“Not only am I stuck here while things cool down, but now, I need things I can't _get_ because I'm _fucking stuck here_.” Lucien's words were so close now, he had to be standing above Hank.

The half eaten bread was gently placed against his lips again, but he twisted his head away, opting to try and derail whatever was about to happen. He had a really bad feeling...

“Did you forget to pay the electric bill or something?”

“... What?”

Heart still pounding heavily in his chest, Hank willed his voice not to waver.

“Look, if you're trying to drive me insane, it's not going to work. I live every day of my life alone and in the dark. The only difference here is I don't have my dog.”

A quick rustle came from above him, and Hank looked up to see the glowing LED spin briefly yellow as it quickly retreated. A hand wrapped violently around his throat, pushing him backward, turning his back against the wall, crushing his arms and windpipe at the same time.

“I'm really getting tired of your attitude, detective… So I'm going to enjoy this.”

The last few words were whispered almost directly into his ear, sending a chill down his spine. Hank opened his mouth soundlessly, barely able breathe with Lucien's weight leaning on his neck. They stayed like that until Hank felt like his eyelids were peeling away from his too dry eyes, his face prickling and his body spasming with no thought or direction. Then the hand released his neck and he gasped for air as a fist sank deep into his gut, what little breath he'd caught bursting violently back out. Sputtering and coughing, Hank crumpled onto his side, eyes watering as he curled in on himself, frantically trying to catch his breath.

“I'm a very impatient man, you know. I don't like it when people get in the way of my _projects,_”

He felt the burning crack of his ribs, a foot slamming into his side on the last word, flipping him over and slamming his face into the wall. His nose crunched, tears filling his eyes as he took a strangled gasp, his throbbing head causing his entire body to pulse along with it. Then a hand on his elbow was pulling him roughly upward, onto buckling knees and unsteady feet. Sightless and unable to muster any defense, Hank was flung into a wall, his raw wrists pushing painfully into his spine. A fist curled in his shirt collar, warm breath against his cheek causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. Several long, loaded seconds passed before Lucien breathed his words, barely above a whisper,

“And I _refuse_ to let you stand in my way again.”

Still struggling to catch his breath, Hank gritted his teeth against the pain in his body. It was obvious Lucien was just here to take out his anger, but... he couldn't think straight right now. So he forced his tongue and lips to repeat the only question he really wanted to ask.

“What did... you do to Connor?”

There was a pause, and Hank tensed, bracing for the next assault. When seconds had passed without movement, Hank released his breath in a rush, still unnervingly lightheaded as Lucien pressed him to the wall. His eyes kept darting to the ever present, ever distant, glowing LED, praying for some kind of response, but the LED remained an unwavering blue. The long silence was broken only by the mirthless laughter that eventually bubbled into being, that horrible feeling once again twisting Hank's gut.

“How about... what I'm _doing_, will that _satisfy_ your fascination?”

Hank's heart jumped into his throat, suddenly wary of the amused tune, unsure if he really wanted to know. Either way, Lucien's question was never intended as a question.

“We're already on the_ third_ reset,” he continued, pressing Hank further against the wall, bones creaking in protest. “Since somehow, he keeps managing to recover files I've completely deleted. It's a real pain in the ass, let me tell you. Especially when he gets it in his mind that he's a combat android and tries to escape.”

Suddenly the tears in his eyes weren't just from his possible broken nose, terror and hope fighting to decide the truth in his flurried thoughts. Did that mean Connor was still Connor? That this android wasn't Connor? His eyes flickered over to the distant, now blurry glow, desperately wanting Lucien to just shut up, while still trying to tell himself it was better than what he'd thought before. Connor was still –

“Doesn't work so well when you're missing legs and surrounded, but, well. I guess deviancy does that? One of these times it'll take; until then, I get to enjoy his screams until he shuts himself off again, and we do it all over –”

“You're a liar!” Hank roared with a surge brazen defiance, pushing against the hands gripping his shirt. “You're a sick fuck, and a liar!”

“Sure am.” Just two words, and Hank felt his entire world tilt without his feet ever leaving the ground. “But about _what,_ now _that's_ the magic question.”

“What...?”

Compared to his voice just seconds ago, the tiny noise he had to force past an uncooperative tongue was pitiful, whereas Lucien's tone had only grown more amused and entertained since he'd arrived. Hank numbly tried to wrap his head around the words, feeling the grip on his shirt loosen. Another fist landed in his gut without warning, and he had no strength to stop himself from crumpling into an aching heap in awkward angles, Lucien's boyish giggles beginning to sound like his own, personal funeral march.

“I'll see you tomorrow. _Detective_.”

Lucien was baiting him. Had to be. In fact, the sack of shit was lying about everything, he figured. He didn't watch the LED disappear this time. Never even heard the door close.

Lucien was lying. Nothing that came out of that shit bag's mouth could be true. Which meant he couldn't even rely on his food for the time. His entire body was on fire, but he couldn't help the jerk of his shoulder as he pulled on the rope again. He wanted to hit something, but that's was Lucien was wanting. He was lying just to get under Hank's skin, and it was working.

It was just bait. So why...

Why did everything seem so... _wrong_?


End file.
